End Of The Line
by Xris Robbins
Summary: After An Affair To Remember. A new enemy appears and Duncan and Methos are forced to call on Connor MacLeod for aid.


Warning: Contains slash references, torture, violence, the occasional   
dirty word and a lot of bad jokes.  
  
Yeah, I get to do some dedications. First - as always - to Alex, the most   
*wonderful* beta reader in the entire world. To my dad for making me   
write on the other computer (thanks *so* much. I do not where out   
keyboards that quickly. And to whoever I get for English next year. I   
have no idea who they are, but they saved me from Mrs. Black, and that   
in itself is enough for thanks.  
  
"Comments to writers are like water to desert."   
  
Rated: R for everything mentioned above.  
  
---  
  
End Of The Line  
By Christy Robbins  
  
---  
  
The air was damp and cold, a sign of the snowfall that had been   
threatening the city for the greater portion of the month. The man   
recognized the signs of snow as he stepped off the plane and pulled his   
coat more snugly around him. The November air bit at him, forcing a   
deep breath into his lungs. Calmly moving down the stairs that had   
attached themselves to the side of the plane, he went to collect his   
luggage. The weather was good for a Challenge. One that had been   
postponed for almost one hundred and fifty years.  
  
Snatching up the suitcase that landed before him on the luggage   
carousel, he started for the entrance of the airport, hoping he could   
catch a cab. He didn't want to be walking the streets of Paris just yet,   
lest the friends of his adversary see him and warn the man.  
  
Smiling coldly he stepped outside and hailed a driver. The cab stopped   
and the man jumped in.  
  
"Where to?" the driver asked.  
  
"Number 18 Avenue Rouge D'oiseau." They drove away from the   
airport in silence. Finally, as the driver slowed down near the entrance   
of a very swank set of townhouses, his fare jumped out. The man   
pushed a few francs into his hand and started for the door.  
  
"Here for business or pleasure?" the cabby asked. The man turned   
slightly, slowing his pace.  
  
"Both," he chuckled. "Both." As the cabby drove away, the man   
reached the door and rang the bell impatiently. A moment later it   
opened, revealing very old eyes on a superficially young face. She was   
gorgeous still, with blond hair flowing in clouds around her face, her   
lips full and succulently colored pink. She smiled at him, the cruelty in   
her eyes barely reflected as her dazzlingly white teeth showed through   
her smile.  
  
"Why Steele, it's been too long."  
  
"Alyna," he nodded. Walking into the house, the door closed behind   
the two of them.  
  
~   
  
"We built this city… we built this city on rock and roll…" Amber's   
hands were over her head, her fingers snapping in tune to the music. A   
feather duster was grasped in one hand and she swung her hips to the   
music, perfectly oblivious to everything else going on around her. Her   
hips swung to the beat, the tank top that fell only to her navel inching   
up her sides with each twist of her body. The CD player was almost on   
maximum volume to 'aid' her in her chores. Not that anyone would   
complain. Most of the neighbours disappeared over the winter and Mac   
and Methos were both out. "They call us irresponsible… write us right   
off the page..." Okay, so she couldn't sing well, it was a fact she knew   
and respected. She put the butt end of the feather duster to her mouth   
and lip-synched the next verse; her eyes closing shut as a force of habit.   
Her chores momentarily forgotten, she began dancing to the music,   
which she had dug out of Meth- *Adam's* personal stash. It had really   
helped pass the time.  
  
As the track wound to a close, Amber went to check on the other CD's   
that were available. Billy Joel… Springsteen… she paused as her   
hands traced along the cover of a Queen CD. Smiling, she pulled it out   
and practically threw it into the CD player. She already knew that her   
teacher was a bit of an eighties freak, fine with her. The only   
conceivable problem with that was the fact that he absolutely refused to   
adapt to the nineties. So she had to wait until he and Duncan were both   
outside the barge before really being able to cut loose with her   
Bloodhound Gang CD, and considering it was almost six months old   
and not yet skipping, as per her norm, she was decidedly unhappy.  
  
Glancing at her watch, Amber frowned at the door, which had yet to   
emit her friends. They had made their promises to get to the barge in   
good time, and already they were running an hour late. She blamed it   
all on Adam, of course, Duncan was too punctual to be tardy even for   
something as stupid as their movie night. Throwing the duster across   
the room, Amber turned on the Queen CD and went to re-fuel the fire.   
The November winds were already freezing her solid, and the absence   
of any and all heat was really starting to bug her. Like Duncan couldn't   
find any other source of heat besides a fireplace. It was nice and   
romantic, all right, but it wasn't Amber who needed that kind of   
atmosphere. It was all about the two shack-up-honeys these days.  
  
The buzz ran down her back and Amber stopped dancing, reaching   
instead for the sword which was, these days, never more than two feet   
away from her at any point in time. The CD player was stopped   
seconds later, and she perked her ears, listening. The buzz was strong,   
probably intoning Duncan and Methos, but it never hurt to be careful.   
As the sound of two slightly raised voices reached her ears, Amber   
relaxed and put the sword down. The insulted tone that held a slight   
Scottish accent was obviously Duncan and she knew her teacher's tone   
well enough to pinpoint him in a large crowd. Smiling, she watched as   
they barged in the door, Duncan with a very embarrassed look about   
him, her mentor with an impish smile.  
  
"I tell you, Adam, try that one more time and I swear-" Duncan left the   
threat hanging dangerously in the air.  
  
"I was just having a bit of fun!" Methos protested.  
  
"Did you see how uncomfortable those people were?"  
  
"They were obviously conservatives, Mac, much too low to be any of   
our concern."  
  
"Conservatives? They were in their sixties, of course they were going to   
be uncomfortable when they see you slapping my butt." Amber   
repressed her own smile as Methos chuckled evilly.  
  
"It was so worth it."  
  
"Adam!"  
  
"What?" Methos yelled defensively. "Like a man's not allowed to have   
a bit of fun once in a while."  
  
"There's a difference between fun and harassment, old man." Methos   
grabbed Duncan's arm and spun him around. Their faces were inches   
away from each other.  
  
"How many times do I have to tell you? Don't call me 'old man,'"   
Methos growled. Duncan grinned triumphantly, succeeding in his   
attempt to get the Immortal's hackles up. It was such a rare treat.   
"Stop that."  
  
"Stop what?"  
  
"Smiling like you won. You didn't."  
  
"Can you prove I didn't?" Methos growled a noise that started in his   
throat and worked its way up to his mouth. "Does your tongue vibrate   
when you do that?"  
  
"You'll just have to find out," Methos snapped. He still had the   
appearance of being angry, though there was a new twinkle in his eye.   
He closed the distance between his mouth and Duncan's in seconds.   
The two were locked in a deep kiss for several moments before either of   
them decided to break it off. Methos was the one to do so. Abruptly,   
as if nothing had happened, he started down the stairs. "Hello, Amber,   
how was your afternoon?" Not really listening for her answer, he   
reached the fridge and swung open the door, searching for the booze.  
  
"Oh, great, I started pimping Richie out for ten bucks an hour and made   
a couple hundred." Amber watched for a reaction to see whether or not   
he was listening.  
  
"Hmm, that's nice." Rolling her eyes, Amber looked to Duncan, who   
had just placed the bags on the counter. Shrugging he looked at the   
older immortal appraisingly.  
  
"Speaking of Richie, where is he?"  
  
"Out with Joe. They drank the last of the beer and decided to leave the   
country." Adam's head shot up out of the fridge, an evil scowl   
adorning his features. It echoed Amber's caustic smirk in a strange   
way.  
  
"Did they now?"  
  
"Oh yes. They fear your wrath, maighstir, and what will happen when   
your blood-alcohol level drops back to the legal area." Methos scowled   
angrily. Amber rolled her eyes. "They went for a beer run, they'll be   
back in a minute." Her teacher snorted derisively.  
  
"You're accenting the 'gh' too much. Improve on that will you?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"So what god-awful movie did you rent tonight?" he asked a moment   
later.  
  
"One that Richie, Joe, Mac and I will love and that you'll despise   
because they didn't portray so-and-so in the right way and you were   
there when it happened and you know for a *fact* that he *never*   
looked at sheep that way." Duncan stared at Amber, amazed that she   
had gotten all of that out in one breath.  
  
"Perfect. So you four can watch the movies and I'll just suffer in   
silence," Methos grumbled, settling into his favorite chair.  
  
"I somehow doubt you'll be silent about it," Duncan said offhandedly as   
he put some of the groceries away.  
  
"Oh shut up, MacLeod."  
  
"Uh-oh, someone's grumpy because the beer's all gone."  
  
"You too, Amber."  
  
~  
  
"MacLeod, living on a boat?" Steele asked skeptically. Alyna nodded.   
She was standing near the window of the room, which smelt heavily of   
cigarettes and cheap booze. The night was calm; the side of town they   
were on usually silent in the late hours. The crime had moved more   
downtown from the last time she had visited Paris.  
  
"Yes. With another man and a young girl. His student, one Richard   
Ryan, lives about a mile away, in a townhouse, alone." Steele ingested   
the information, taking a deep drought of his whiskey. Standing from   
the couch he had been seated on, he went to refill his glass.  
  
"And you're sure that this one is Connor's student, not just some   
random immortal who happens to be sharing a name with the man this   
decade?"  
  
"I have been watching him for several weeks. He is indeed Connor's   
student." Steele nodded in acceptance.  
  
"He's how old?"  
  
"Four centuries. I met him once in London, I believe it was eighteen   
thirty-something. Not a pleasant experience for either of us." Her eyes   
darkened in remembered anger.  
  
Steele raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "I wonder, are you here to fight   
for our cause, or because you want revenge on what some stupid   
Scottish brat did to you a century ago."  
  
"Who says I can't have one without the other?" Alyna demanded. "You   
are the one eager to avenge the death of our teacher, I am here for the   
added benefits of this revenge."  
  
"Such as extracting your own on Duncan MacLeod?" Steele asked.   
Alyna smile and nodded.  
  
"Exactly so. And that vengeance, I assure you, with be worthy of our   
teacher's name."  
  
"You were always his favorite," Steele snorted.  
  
"I earned it. Which is more than you can say," Alyna snapped. Steele   
spun.  
  
"Watch your tongue, wench. Or I'll serve it to you on a platter." Alyna   
smiled.  
  
"You wouldn't dare," she told him with a smirk.  
  
"Wouldn't I?" he asked. She shook her head.  
  
"No. You need me for this exquisite revenge you've planned. It's why   
you called me. We are the last of the Kurgan's students. Without me   
you would just been some worn out has-been who wants a shot at the   
Prize. With me, you may have a chance of beating them."  
  
"What makes you so sure?" Steele asked. "You were never very good   
with the sword."  
  
"No?" she asked. "Then how come I've managed to live for six   
hundred years?"  
  
"Because there are other ways of taking a man's head." Alyna   
chuckled.  
  
"Too true." She looked at him appraisingly. He had not changed much   
from their first meeting. He still had rich dark skin, as if he'd tanned to   
the point of skin cancer before throwing on sunscreen. His black hair,   
cropped closely to his head, contrasted with his light gray eyes in an   
odd way, making him seem older than he appeared. Alyna had once   
placed him in his mid-thirties when he had died the first time. He had   
kept that look. "But let's not argue. We'll start this revenge indirectly.   
Say with Duncan MacLeod's student. They have a close relationship   
and I think that we can send him the right message through the boy."  
  
"I forgot just how devious you were," Steele commented, imagining the   
possibilities.  
  
"It's a common mistake among men who are dead."  
  
"Is that a threat?" Alyna smiled nastily and looked back out the   
window.   
  
After a moment, Steele continued. "What makes you think word will   
get to Connor?"  
  
"We'll see to it. It won't be too hard."  
  
"Why do you say that?"  
  
"Because the right message will bring all of MacLeod's friends here.   
Including the elusive Highlander himself."  
  
"I would sincerely like to know your definition of the right message."   
Alyna grinned at the streets below.  
  
"I still have some of the gifts that our teacher gave to me several   
centuries ago. Including the knowledge of how to keep a man under   
extreme…" she searched for the correct word. "Duress, alive for quite   
a while."   
  
Steele chuckled. "When do you propose we grab the boy?"  
  
"Tomorrow. He goes to the gym with MacLeod every other day and   
he'll be missed sooner if he skips something like that."  
  
"Very well. I shall make the arrangements."  
  
"Don't bother. I'll take care of it." Alyna turned back to the room and   
smiled at her accomplice. He returned the smile and shook his head.  
  
"It takes a true master to appreciate art, Alyna," he said. "Make him   
bleed."  
  
"Oh, I intend to," she said. "And I'll leave the rest to you."  
  
~  
  
"I don't wanna do eight miles."  
  
"You said you did yesterday night."  
  
"I was kidding."  
  
"Well I wasn't. Now quit whining and haul you butt out of bed."  
  
"It's too early."  
  
"Up!"  
  
"But-"  
  
"UP!" Practically hissing in anger, Methos finally got up, much to his   
chagrin. He had desperately wanted to sleep in that morning. Duncan   
had kept him up rather late and Amber had not helped matters with the   
movie she rented, which was longer than either of them had expected.  
  
"Why can't you ever get me up at a decent time? Like noon?" Methos   
demanded as he reached blindly for his pants, which had gone astray   
the night before.  
  
"Because you always get mad at me if I let you sleep in. You weren't   
always this lazy you know. When we first started my training you at   
least got up the first time I asked you."  
  
"When I first started your training I wasn't sleeping with someone who   
had the stamina of the Scottish."  
  
"Okay, know what? I *really* did NOT need to hear that." Methos   
chuckled, tugging on his boxers and then his sweatpants.  
  
"So we were doing eight miles this morning?" he asked. Amber made a   
noise of agreement from where she had relocated to the kitchen, digging   
two water bottles out of the fridge. "Okay, there's a path in the park   
that we can follow. It goes about ten all the way around."  
  
"Ten?"  
  
"I wanted to sleep in," he told her. He glanced at Duncan, who had just   
wakened. Methos leaned over, draping himself across the Scotsman's   
torso. "Duncan, Amber and I are going for our run," he whispered.   
Duncan blinked the sleep out of his eyes and yawned.  
  
"All right. I'm going to the gym this morning."  
  
"I know. Take care, love, we'll be back around ten." Methos kissed   
Duncan's cheek and got out of bed, reaching for a sweater. "I don't see   
why you're so insistent to run in the cold anyway." Amber shrugged.  
  
"It's good for my complexion."  
  
"Amber, you've not worried about your skin in months."  
  
"And I'd like to keep it that way," she shrugged. As she and Methos   
headed out the door, Duncan smiled contentedly and pulled himself out   
of bed.   
  
~  
  
It was cold, the coming snowstorm having fallen the night before. The   
wind bit into Richie's bones terribly, reminding him just how frigid   
Paris could get. Making his way to the car as quickly as possible, he   
paused only when he felt the buzz shiver down his spine. Frowning, he   
touched the hilt of his sword and looked around for the source.  
  
"Hello there," the voice was behind him. Turning, he came face-to-face   
with a woman. A beautiful woman. Blinking, he lowered his hand and   
looked her over. She wore a heavy fur coat that traced her curves as   
she headed towards him. Underneath was a body suit made exclusively   
of crimson leather. "I am Alyna Clauswitz. I heard that there was   
another of our kind in Paris and thought that perhaps I'd welcome him   
to the neighborhood."  
  
*Lady, if only you knew* Richie thought to himself. "Well, here I am.   
I'm Richard Redstone." He fell easily onto the pseudonym he'd taken   
on earlier that year.  
  
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Redstone," she said, extending a hand. It   
was gloved, like the rest of her body, in the red leather.  
  
"Make it Richie, please," he said, smiling. Alyna grinned, returning his   
warmth.  
  
"All right, Richie. I was wondering if you'd care to join me for   
breakfast," she said, an underlining offer in her voice. Richie blinked in   
surprise.  
  
"Actually I was planning to meet a friend this mor-" He was cut off as   
Alyna closed the distance between them, rubbing up against him.   
Richie's eyes widened.  
  
"I'll make it worth your while," Alyna promised.  
  
"Direct, aren't we?" he said, trying to laugh the arousal out of his voice.   
She chuckled coyly.  
  
"You could say that. Coming?" She stepped away from him. Walking   
a few feet away, she turned to look at him over her shoulder.  
  
"Sure," Richie coughed, his voice at the breaking point. Smiling Alyna   
waited for him to catch up and then took his arm. Leading him around   
the corner, she glanced back at the parking lot, where he had abandoned   
the bag that had been previously slung over his shoulder. How trusting.   
How naïve. How perfect.  
  
~  
  
"My hair's frozen to my forehead," Amber panted, stopping outside the   
barge. Methos smiled condescendingly as she finished stretching.  
  
"You're exaggerating," he said with a dismissive wave.  
  
"No I'm not," Amber stated angrily. Methos looked at her. True to her   
word, icicles clung to her sweaty brow.  
  
"Running ten miles should not make you sweat that much. We'll have   
to make a habit out of it." Amber groaned and started up the ramp to the   
barge, her muscles screaming with every step.  
  
"I get the shower first," she told him angrily. Methos smiled.  
  
"Good, that means that breakfast should be ready for me by the time I   
get out." Scowling at him, Amber threw open the door and staggered   
into the barge, down the stairs, and into the bathroom. Seconds later   
Methos heard a loud thud and a profanity undoubtedly issued from his   
student. Half concerned he raised an eyebrow.  
  
"All right in there?"  
  
"I stubbed my freaking toe, okay? Lemme 'lone!" The shower started   
up a moment later. Smiling, Methos settled back against the counter,   
pulling his cold, sweaty sweater off and tossing it to the side. The T-  
shirt underneath came off next. Hitting the auto-brew button on the   
coffee-maker, the old immortal waited patiently, though silently   
deciding that if his student used all the hot water, the jog tomorrow   
would be eleven miles instead of ten.  
  
A sound at the door drew his attention and Duncan stumbled in a   
moment later. Methos looked at him puzzled and glanced at the clock.   
The Highlander wasn't due back at the barge for another half-hour.   
Concerned, Methos started across the room to his lover, searching   
MacLeod's face for an answer.  
  
Throwing his coat to the ground, Mac looked right through his lover, a   
frown smudging his features.  
  
"All right, love?" Methos asked. Duncan started, as if just realizing that   
Methos was there.  
  
"Rich didn't meet me for our workout this morning," Duncan told him.   
Methos shrugged nonchalantly.  
  
"Boy probably slept in is all, give him a call."  
  
"I did, from the gym. No answer."  
  
"Well, perhaps he. . ." Methos paused. He couldn't think of a relevant   
excuse that was likely to calm his lover's nerves in the slightest. "He's   
probably fine, MacLeod, why are you so worried?"  
  
"Because I swung past his place after he didn't answer the phone."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And his abandoned duffel bag is now in my trunk. There was no sign   
of him, Adam." The shower had stopped, and the door was opened   
slightly, Amber's head sticking out, listening intently. A moment later   
it closed and she reappeared a moment later, clothed in Methos'   
bathrobe. Her wet auburn hair, hanging to just below the collar, was   
soaking the robe thoroughly. Methos raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Did I give you permission to use that?" Ignoring him, Amber looked   
at Duncan.  
  
"Do you have any idea of where he might have gone? At all?" she   
asked, concern making her brow wrinkle. Duncan shook his head. "He   
wouldn't just disappear, we were going to have lunch together today.   
He would have called to cancel if something was going on." This   
statement just made MacLeod more agitated.  
  
"I don't like this," he muttered. "I'm going to call Joe, maybe Richie   
said something to him when he dropped him off last night." Moving for   
the phone, Methos and Amber exchanged concerned glances. Amber   
turned to grab some clothes as Duncan dialed up his Watcher.  
  
"If anything's happened to him. . ." the Scotsman muttered. His   
attention was drawn as Joe picked up on the other end. "Hey, Joe-"   
After a few minutes that just aided his agitation in its growth, Duncan   
hung up and seated himself on a kitchen chair. Worry marred his   
handsome features and his hands were balled into tight fists. Amber   
was leaned against the nearby counter, watching him carefully,   
measuring his reactions. So far, he'd not given her anything to work   
with. Adam had already run to shower, trying to act as nonchalant as   
possible, hoping that his lover would find some comfort in a normal   
day-to-day routine.  
  
It wasn't working.  
  
"Mac, I'm sure he's okay," Amber finally said, trying to do something -   
anything - to ease the strained silence. "I mean, we would have seen a   
Quickening, right?"  
  
"The skies are filled with winter overcast. There's a good chance that   
no one would have noticed anything," MacLeod countered.  
  
"Well," Amber started, searching for words. She was ill qualified to   
produce any thoughts of comfort considering how badly her nerves   
were reacting to the situation. "If it was a challenge, wouldn't they   
have fought in the parking lot where you found his gear? There would   
have been signs of a fight and maybe a bod-" She stopped as unbidden   
images of her friend's headless corpse jumped to her mind. She tried to   
repress a shiver of disgust and shook her head.  
  
"Perhaps," Duncan said. He was absently chewing his lower lip. "But   
it's not a certain. They might have lead him away from prying eyes."  
  
"You're really not making this easy, Mac," Amber pointed out. There   
was a tension in her voice that made Mac look up. Amber was   
unnaturally pale. In the turmoil of MacLeod's own worries, he'd near   
forgotten how close Amber and Richie had gotten and how much strain   
it would be putting on her as well. Sighing he crossed the room and   
went to stand beside her, hoping that in some way she'd take comfort in   
his closeness. "I'm just as worried as you are," she informed him. "But   
assuming the worst isn't going to make any of this easier."  
  
"I know. But Richie was getting a reputation in Europe last he was   
here," Duncan said. His student had, for a while, collected the standing   
of headhunter. The retribution had been long coming and Duncan was   
afraid that it had caught up with him at last. "I don't want to think that   
it might have come back to haunt him."  
  
"Then let's go out there and prove that it didn't," Amber said. Duncan   
gave her a questioning look. "Paris is only so big, and if he's out there,   
we just need to hunt him down and find him."  
  
"My student raises a good point," Methos said, appearing from the   
bathroom. "She and I can go looking for him and you talk to Joe, see if   
he can do anything about this." Amber nodded, albeit reluctantly. She   
had learned of the Watchers only a few months previous. Although she   
still didn't like the idea, she had accepted it with her usual grace. The   
tantrum had been small comparatively.  
  
"If he's out there, we'll find him," Amber promised. Duncan looked at   
the young woman, the worry momentarily passing from his eyes.   
Smiling, he wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder.  
  
"All right. I'll be waiting here," he told her. Relief washed through her   
eyes. Smiling, she and Methos headed for the door. "Be careful."   
Methos turned and smiled at his lover as Amber waved her hand, not   
missing a step. They were out the door within minutes. Duncan turned   
his attention back to the phone, though all he could bring himself to do   
for the next five minutes was sit in silence.  
  
~  
  
"I told you it would be worth your while," Alyna whispered. There was   
no response; the younger Immortal was beyond words. There must   
have been a strange mixture of pleasure and pain in what services she   
and Steele had provided. The red head's screams had stopped only   
when his heart did. It was frustrating, trying to keep him alive. The   
young had no stomach for pain. Not like the suffering Alyna managed   
to deliver. Richard was at one of the rare moments where he was alive   
as well as coherent. He was staring at her with angry eyes. "I know   
how you feel. You'd just like to reach for my throat and rip and tear it   
out." She smiled in a mocking pity. "Too bad."  
  
"Why don't you just take my head?" he demanded. Alyna shook her   
head, breathing in deeply.  
  
"Because that would fail to send the message," she told him. Glancing   
beside her, she noticed that the needle she'd placed on the heating pad   
was red. She leaned over to pick it up.  
  
"What message?"  
  
"That the students of the Kurgan are *very* unhappy about the death of   
our teacher," she told him. Reaching out, she grabbed his chin with her   
strange strength and held his head still. "Now be quiet a moment and   
just think to yourself," she pursed her lips, trying to decide where the   
needle would be best positioned, "a few more days, and this will all be   
over."  
  
  
Richie had passed out only moments before Steele appeared at the door.  
  
"I'm going to deliver the second half of the message," he told Alyna.   
Smiling at him, she nodded.  
  
"Go ahead. I may be busy here for a while yet," she told him. When he   
disappeared, she turned back to her victim. "Now then," she whispered   
to herself, "where to put the others."  
  
~  
  
"I'm sorry that we didn't find him, Amber, but it was getting dark, and   
MacLeod would start to worry," Methos said apologetically. His   
student sat in the passenger seat, her head caught morosely in her hand.  
  
"I know," she whispered. Methos sighed.  
  
"We'll just pick it up tomorrow," he told her. Amber nodded forlornly.  
  
"Yeah." Methos stopped the car at the usual spot, letting his student out   
closer to the barge before going to park the car. "Tell Mac I'll be there   
in a moment." Nodding, she closed the door and walked to the   
riverside. She was no more than twelve feet from the gangplank when   
there was a sudden, sharp sensation in her back, one that threw her   
forward. The force drove her to her knees and gasping, she tasted   
blood in her mouth. Turning her head, she spotted what looked like a   
small arrow sticking out her back. Swallowing a mouthful of blood, she   
dropped to the ground and faded out of consciousness.  
  
~  
  
Methos was already headed back to the barge when he felt the Immortal   
presence wash over him. Frowning, he listened to the sounds of   
squealing tires and looked over to the direction. A flashy red car sped   
past him, slow enough just so that Methos could get a flash of the rental   
sign on the back before it flew around a corner and away. A thin-lipped   
expression adorning his face, he headed back for the barge.  
  
He spotted her body only moments later.  
  
The still, lifeless form of his student prodded him into a run, and forced   
the name of MacLeod from his lips. But after that, an automaton took   
over. A zombie who had lived through a thousand battles, whose   
skilled hands had both saved and taken a million lives. Before Mac had   
even roused himself from the barge, Methos had grabbed the crossbow   
bolt near to the wound and yanked it from his student's body. Looking   
at it in disgust, he sneered and handed it to MacLeod, who was   
suddenly at his side. Noting that the head of the bolt had not   
accompanied the rest of it, he gathered Amber in his arms, he walked   
into the barge, his lover close at his heels.  
  
"I'll be a moment," he muttered angrily. Walking to the bathroom, he   
used his hip and slammed the door behind him. MacLeod, frowning in   
worry and anger, looked at the bolt. There was a small note attached to   
the shaft. His brow creased with lines of worry, he detached it.  
  
~  
  
Methos had put Amber's body into her bed before successfully getting   
over his raging anger. The voice of experience had ordered him to   
check her wound - make sure that it had been a clean death- before her   
healing began. The bolt had imbedded itself deep into the back of her   
spine, which would make the process slow and painful. He'd been   
forced to cut her back open to retrieve the arrowhead that had been left   
there - probably by design. It was an old trick, the head coming loose   
and staying inside the wound even after the rest had been torn out.   
He'd used it a few times himself.  
  
He edges of his T-shirt were coated in blood, and he was grateful that   
he'd taken his sweater off before setting to work on Amber's back.   
Taking the offensive cloth off and throwing it across the room he   
snarled and plopped onto the couch. Duncan was sitting across from   
him, staring at the fireplace that just barely lit the room.  
  
"She all right?" Duncan asked. Methos shook his head.  
  
"Growing back bits of your spine is a long, painful process, but it could   
have been worse," he said. Duncan sighed. "Just be glad that it wasn't   
Joe." The Scotsman leaned forward into his hands, the brooding nature   
becoming instantly predominant.  
  
"He may be next," Duncan said. Methos frowned and looked at the   
note on the table once Duncan had gestured to it. Grabbing for the   
parchment, Methos looked it over.  
  
"Dear MacLeod," he whispered, reading the words over. "Afraid yet?   
Your student is ours and we have the upper hand. The mortals you have   
befriended are a liability as are the two younger of our kind. Be   
warned, your whole line will suffer our wrath from this moment on.   
Call your friend Connor, your kinsman, for you cannot stand against us,   
no matter how strong. By all means, bring him to Paris, for his is the   
source of this problem. We, the students of the Kurgan, shall no longer   
suffer MacLeod to live. And may the rest of his line be brought down   
alongside. Steele." Methos reread the letter and sighed, putting it back   
down onto the table. "So what happens now?" he asked after a few   
minutes of tense silence.  
  
"We call Connor," Duncan said. "And hope that he's willing to help us   
in this fight with the last of the Kurgan."  
  
~  
  
She just wasn't paid enough.  
  
No matter what Russell and Rachel said, with all the loonies coming   
and going from the store, she was never paid enough. Not that working   
reception at Nash Antiques wasn't a cozy job - compared to her bit as a   
waitress it was a gift from heaven - but without fail, once a month,   
something happened to make her wish that she'd gotten a safer job.  
  
This month, that something presented itself as the very agitated voice   
on the other end of the phone.  
  
"Nash Antiques." Rachel had trained her how to handle incoming calls   
with the coolness of normality. The voice on the other end probably   
never cared for such niceties.  
  
"Yeah, hi, is Russell there?" Deep, sexy. The kind of voice she'd pay   
to listen to on her nights off.  
  
"No, I'm sorry, Mr. Nash is unavailable at the moment. May I take a   
message?"  
  
"Could you tell him that Duncan called?" She repeated the name   
Duncan aloud and noticed that Rachel stiffened at the name. "-I'm   
having a bit of trouble in Paris and-" Spotting Rachel motioning her to   
transfer the call, she turned her attention off for half a second.  
  
~  
  
"Hold for a moment, all right?" the voice cut him off shortly.   
  
The sound of Mozart played over the phone and Duncan frowned.   
After a moment, the phone was removed from the hook.  
  
"Duncan?" The voice was unmistakably that of Rachel, Connor's   
assistant. The two had met when she was a teenager, Connor's ward.  
  
"Rachel, yes, it's me."  
  
"Connor isn't here, Duncan, he's out arguing with a man whose trying   
to buy up some of the Scottish pieces that Connor's been interested in   
for month. He even put them on hold but-"  
  
"Sorry to interrupt, but I need to talk to him as soon as possible, all   
right."  
  
"Yes, of course. Ellie said something about having trouble in Paris?"  
  
"A problem came up and Connor's name was mentioned on and off. I   
was hoping he could lend a hand," Duncan said. No sense worrying the   
woman with all the details.  
  
"I will tell him this, Duncan. Did you catch the name?"  
  
"Steele. That's all I know."  
  
"I'll inform him, all right?" Duncan nodded at Methos and gave the   
affirmative answer to Rachel. Hanging up a moment later, he looked at   
his lover.  
  
"You trust too many people, Duncan," Methos said in a strict tone.  
  
"It's Rachel, I've known her for most of her life. Connor got her out of   
Germany during World War Two, introduced us a few years later."  
  
"Well?" Methos said, impatient.  
  
"He'll get back to us."  
  
"This is ridiculous. He kidnaps your student, kills mine. . . what is he   
trying to do here?"  
  
"I don't know, Methos," Duncan sighed. "I really don't know."  
  
~  
  
NYC.  
  
Between the attempted mugging only hours earlier and the thief who   
had likewise tried to rob him of a fortune in Scottish-made clan crests,   
Connor MacLeod was not in the best of moods. His gold-brown eyes   
were flaring with anger as he stormed into the antique shop, slamming   
the door behind him. Frowning, he looked around, expecting to see the   
new assistant, Ellie, working on the transcripts he'd given her earlier.  
  
"I sent her home, Connor." Rachel's voice reached him from across the   
room. He looked at her.  
  
"Why?" he asked, straining to keep the anger from his voice.  
  
"Because there's been news that she shouldn't be around to hear." The   
tone in her voice made him pin her with a confused, worried look. She   
was pale, with ghosts haunting the back of her eyes.  
  
"What is it?" he demanded, all of a sudden anxious.  
  
"There was a call earlier from Paris," she started.  
  
"Duncan?" Connor interjected. Rachel nodded.  
  
"There's been trouble. He called asking for you," she told him. His   
frown growing deeper, Connor reached for the closest phone. "He   
mentioned the name Steele." He froze in his place. Yes, he knew the   
name, too well.  
  
* * *  
  
Vienna - 1846  
  
Connor MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod stared at the dancing figures   
around him. They portrayed all one would have expected in a city such   
as Vienna. The growing port city had developed a reputation for great   
art - be it writing, painting or music. Especially music. Beethoven,   
Mozart, Haydn, they had all graced the city with their presence. And   
now Connor MacLeod.  
  
"Ramirez, you Span- *Egyptian* - peacock, bet you'd never had   
thought to find me here," he muttered, looking out onto the floor of the   
ballroom. His friend Dedrick had insisted upon his presence, and since   
he had helped MacLeod as he tried so hard to remove the Scottish   
accent from his regular Germanic speech, he could hardly refuse. His   
friend stood at his right, smiling at the beautiful women gracing the   
floor. Lace was fashionable this year - though MacLeod could have   
done without the excessive make-up that Austrian women seemed to   
prefer. He always preferred simply attired women himself, but that was   
probably due to Heather.  
  
Sighing in remorse for a pain that still haunted him, he looked at   
Dedrick, who was trying to make conversation and, thus far, failing.   
  
"So tell me, MacLeod, what time does your boat leave tomorrow?" he   
asked again. Connor was sure he'd answered the question a million   
times before.  
  
"High noon. We set sail up the Danube and thence to Linz and   
Regensburg."  
  
"Decided against Italy?"  
  
"Put my temper to its test? No thank you, Dedrick." The plump duke   
laughed in appreciation of MacLeod's wry humour and clapped his   
hands as a livelier tune began to play. MacLeod smiled at the scene,   
trying to think of something else to say, when suddenly the buzz   
clouded his senses. Looking up, he saw a man about thirty years of age   
enter the room. Locking eyes immediately, Connor made excuses to   
Dedrick and headed towards the other Immortal. They met halfway   
across the room, near a small pillar that moved them away from the   
crowd.  
  
"I am Vittorio Steele," the man said, extending a hand.  
  
"I am Connor MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod." Steele seemed a bit   
taken aback at the introduction, but said nothing of it.  
  
"So shall we?"  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"Swords, the whole bit." His German was laced with a thick accent,   
probably Italian.  
  
"Why? I've no cause to fight you."  
  
"Because it's there, MacLeod," Vittorio shrugged. Connor scowled   
darkly.  
  
"Who taught you?"  
  
"That is of no consequence," the other man responded haughtily.   
"Swords or no?"  
  
"No," Connor responded. With that he slipped away from Vittorio and   
back into the crowd.  
  
* * *  
  
"Call the airport and book me on the earliest plane to Paris," he   
instructed grimly. He forewent the telephone and headed instead to the   
elevator that led to his apartment.  
  
"Is everything all right?" Rachel asked. Connor turned as he waited.  
  
"No." As the doors opened, he shook his head and climbed in. His last   
sight before the door closed was Rachel reaching for the phone.  
  
~  
  
"Easy, Am, I know it hurts," Joe said softly. Amber whimpered as   
Methos checked her back. It had been a long day and an even longer   
night. Her back had almost repaired itself, but at the cost of her   
constant agony. Methos nodded his head in satisfaction, the wounds   
having healed in good time. He had been at it all morning, massaging   
her muscles enough so that they were relaxed enough for her healing to   
go at a quicker pace.  
  
"Another day and the pain should be completely gone," he told his   
student-patient. Amber's face was drawn in a grave frown.  
  
"Great," she said, her voice so quiet that almost no noise reached her   
mentor's ear.  
  
"Any news from Connor yet?" Joe asked, looking across the room to   
Duncan. His highland friend shook his head.  
  
"None. This isn't looking particularly good," Duncan muttered. "And   
still no other news from this Steele person."  
  
"I've talked to the other watchers in the area. None of them know   
where Steele is. His watcher lost track of him back in Argentina.   
Never knew that he was making plans to come to Paris. No one else   
has seen him," Joe said apologetically.  
  
"Did the Kurgan have any other students?" Methos asked.  
  
"One left living. But no one has seen her in two years. Her watcher   
was found dead in an alleyway in London. Since then we've not been   
able to locate her," Joe told him. Amber gasped as Methos found a sore   
patch on her back. Scowling at the bunched up muscles, Methos   
disregarded his student's discomfort and dug into them. After a few   
moments' worth of quiet screams, Amber had eased into the rub down   
and quieted.  
  
"I really hate him," she whispered. Her pain-filled voice made Joe   
wince.  
  
"You're not alone," Duncan muttered. He suddenly straightened as the   
buzz announced immortal presence. Amber practically jumped in   
surprised, making her shudder in pain. After pushing her back down,   
Methos stood, sword instantly in hand. Cautiously, Duncan headed   
towards the door, his katana in a ready position. Dark brow furrowed in   
concentration, he reached for the door and swung it open. Methos   
watched in anxiety as his lover tensed a moment.  
  
"Connor," the Highlander finally said. He sagged in relief.  
  
"Duncan," his kinsman returned, walking in the door. He surveyed the   
scene a moment and then looked at the sword in Duncan's hand. "How   
bad is it?"  
  
"Bad," Duncan muttered. Tucking his katana under his arm, he led   
Connor down the stairs into the main area of the barge. Connor reached   
the living quarters and fixed Methos with a curious stare.  
  
"Michael," Connor nodded.  
  
"MacLeod," Methos said in acknowledgment. Duncan looked at the air   
between them.  
  
"You two know each other?" he asked solemnly.  
  
"Met in Wales, what was it, 1953?" Methos told him, looking to   
Connor for confirmation. The Scotsman inclined his head.  
  
"Around then, yes," he said. He looked back to Duncan. "So?"  
  
"My student is missing, his is just recovering from a crossbow bolt in   
the back," Duncan summarized. "Accompanied by this note." Grabbing   
the parchment off the counter top, he passed it to his teacher. Connor   
looked it over, frowning.  
  
"Sounds like Steele, all right. Damned arrogant bastard." Anger laced   
Connor's voice like acid. "I should have killed him back when I first   
met him."  
  
"Why didn't you?" Joe asked. Connor's head snapped up, pinning the   
mortal with a dangerous gaze.  
  
"He's a friend," Duncan reassured his kinsman, reading the expression.   
Connor looked Dawson over and eventually nodded.  
  
"He was not a year into the Game, and I didn't know that he had been   
the Kurgan's student. If I had, he would have died right then and   
there," Connor told him. "His teacher was no where to be found that   
day."  
  
"More's the pity," Amber mumbled. Connor looked at her.  
  
"Who's this?" he asked.  
  
"Connor MacLeod, meet Amber," Duncan said. Amber turned her head   
slightly to look at the newcomer.  
  
"Just Amber?" Connor asked.  
  
"Doesn't have quite the same ring as Madonna or Cher, but it's the only   
name I have," Amber muttered, wincing as a spasm ran through her   
back. Cursing slightly, she returned her head to its original position.   
Connor watched a moment longer and finally turned to Duncan.  
  
"Tell me everything I haven't heard," he ordered. Duncan nodded and   
waved to the liquor cabinet.  
  
"Come have a drink, cousin, it'll be a long night."  
  
~  
  
"Connor has finally surfaced," Alyna said, leaning in the door of the   
bedroom. Steele grinned evilly, grabbing Richie's chin in his hand and   
kissing him roughly one last time. Standing, he looked at his comrade.  
  
"Excellent. We'll return the brat tomorrow," Steele said.  
  
"Why not just take his head?" Alyna demanded.  
  
"So thirsty for his blood? I thought you'd had your fill," Steele   
mentioned casually. Alyna scowled.  
  
"Never," she snapped. Steele shrugged.  
  
"It won't scare them if we just take the child's head," he told her. He   
looked at Richie. The boy had curled up into a ball, becoming as small   
as possible, trying to avoid Steele's scrutiny. "It will be much more   
effective if they know exactly what they are up against."  
  
"Fine," Alyna pouted. "But I wasn't done yet."  
  
"You have twenty-four hours to finish your work on him," Steele told   
her. Smiling, she stepped past his naked form and dropped onto the   
bed, next to Richie. Chuckling at Richie's contained whimper, Steele   
turned to leave the room. "Oh, and Alyna." She looked up. "Make sure   
that you leave your mark." Smiling, he closed the door behind him.  
  
~  
  
"Don't make me do this," Amber pleaded. Her teacher looked at her   
with unsympathetic eyes.  
  
"You got away with it the past two days, don't think I'm going to let   
you laze abed today as well," Methos told her strictly.  
  
"But sparring-" He cut her off with a wave of his hand and readied the   
sword he was holding. "Fine. But I just want to say that I have serious   
objections to making me spar two days after my spinal cord was   
severed!"  
  
"It wasn't severed completely," Methos reminded her. "Just dug into."  
  
"You're arguing semantics with me?" Amber demanded in disbelief.  
  
"As always."  
  
"That just does it." Amber lunged, taking her teacher completely by   
surprise. Swinging to block, Methos was suddenly on the defensive as   
Amber attacked him with fury. Her sword was a singing blur of   
movement as first she went through a strange double-hit fencing pattern   
he had taught her earlier on and then finally punching through his cross-  
down defense with the hilt of her sword. It connected with his nose,   
and he had minute time to consider the crack he heard before having to   
block her next shot.  
  
"Who are you betting on?" Connor asked Duncan as the two watched   
from the sidelines. Duncan's barge had been rearranged for the   
sparring match - as per the norm when Amber and Methos trained - and   
the furniture had been pressed up against the sides of the room. The   
two Scottish immortals watched from the kitchen, where the island had   
been cleared off to allow for front-row seats.  
  
"Until this morning, I would have said Adam," Duncan told his cousin,   
falling quickly into the pattern of referring to his lover by the most   
recent identity. "But I've never seen Amber fight like this before."  
  
"I'm amazed that she can use a broadsword so effectively in Italian   
fencing patterns," Connor said, commenting on her newest onslaught.  
  
"She had a good teacher," Duncan muttered offhand, wincing as his   
eyes grazed across Methos' face. The nose would have to be reset by   
the time these two were done, or it wouldn't heal right.  
  
Amber meanwhile, had pushed through her teacher's defenses for the   
first time in the months of instruction. She wasn't thinking of it as she   
attacked, she was just trying to take out her anger on something -   
anything - and the immortal before her made the perfect target. *It's   
not fair* her mind screamed in anger. *Richie shouldn't have been   
kidnapped. He shouldn't be a part of this.* Too many shouldn'ts.   
Growing angrier at the injustice of it all, Amber blocked her teacher's   
attempt to strike her and stabbed through with her sword. She stopped   
suddenly, as she felt her sword rip through cloth and then flesh. Eyes   
widening, she looked at her teacher and took a step back. Methos stood   
before her, clutching at the blade of her sword, which had been stabbed   
through his stomach. Gasping, she pulled the blade out, dropping it to   
the ground in shock as Methos slid to his knees. She closed the short   
distance between them and stared at her teacher, kneeling beside him.   
Taking a shuddering breath, he fixed her with an unreadable stare.  
  
"Good job, Amber," he muttered. His eyes clouded over in death and   
he slumped over his wounds.  
  
Duncan had already moved to stand beside them. Pushing Amber away   
slightly, he leant Methos' body against his chest and reached for his   
nose. Amber winced at the invoked snap and looked at the Highlander.  
  
"Improved, haven't we?" he asked, fixing her with an impressed stare.  
  
"I didn't mean to. . ." she stared. "I. . ."  
  
"You're not in trouble, lass," Connor said from the counter he was still   
sitting upon. "I think my cousin's trying to tell you that you did a good   
job." Amber swallowed a lump in her throat and stared at the body of   
her teacher.  
  
"If it makes you feel any better, he was distracted to begin with. You   
probably wouldn't have done half so well if he had been concentrating,"   
Duncan shrugged. Amber gave a sneering laugh.  
  
"Thanks so much," she muttered. Duncan grinned. A moment later,   
Methos drew in a gasping breath, looking up at his lover.  
  
"Good morning, love," he said sardonically. Duncan glanced at   
Connor. They'd yet to tell his kinsman about their relationship.   
Throughout the night, they'd remained quiet on the subject, Duncan   
because he feared his teacher's reaction and Methos because he   
respected Duncan's fear. The other Highlander was watching them,   
obviously amused. Sitting up, Methos looked at Amber. "Well.   
Someone was practicing over the last few weeks."  
  
"What do you-" Amber started.  
  
"I never taught you the cross-parry-stab, and was quite surprised when   
you decided to use it," Methos informed her. Amber blushed.  
  
"Richie taught. . ." She stopped speaking, her thoughts going to her   
friend. Methos smiled and ruffled her impossibly short hair.  
  
"Well, like I've said, he has his moments," Methos told her with a   
reassuring grin. Smiling, he held out his hand and the two of them   
climbed to their feet, Duncan close behind. Smiling at his lover,   
Methos turned and started when he saw Connor, as if just remembering   
that the man was there. Connor was looking over him and Duncan,   
amused beyond words.  
  
"Forgetting to tell me something, cousin?" Connor asked. Duncan   
flushed.  
  
"Well, I-" He stopped. Connor, Amber, Methos and Duncan's eyes   
fixed on the door as the buzz washed over them. Amber was the fastest.   
Ducking to get her sword, she was up the stairs in seconds, followed   
closely by the others. Throwing it open, she caught the end of a red car   
streaking past the barge. Frowning, she surveyed the area around.   
When her eyes rested on the figure sprawled on the ground close-by, a   
scream caught in her throat. She felt Connor and Methos push her out   
of the way as they went to examine it. Silent communication passing   
between them, they looked over the body and nodded at each other.  
  
"Duncan, take Amber to Joe's," Methos ordered. Duncan started to   
speak in protest.   
  
"Now, Duncan," Connor seconded. Frowning indignantly, Duncan took   
Amber's shoulders and turned her away from Connor and Methos,   
leading her to his car. He knew that his kinsman and his lover were   
hiding something, but he wasn't sure what. All he knew was that the   
body on the ground - the body with the close-cropped red hair - was, or   
had been, his student.  
  
~  
  
She wasn't speaking.  
  
Joe had noted that from the moment Duncan had brought her inside.  
  
And now, on the way back to the barge, when Methos had called and   
given him the 'okay' to bring Duncan and Amber back, she was   
examining her fingernails, perhaps a bit too closely. He noted the built   
up worry in her eyes. It had been gradually mixing with anger and pain,   
all centered on her thoughts of Richie.  
  
She didn't wait for the car to stop. As it slowed, nearing the barge, she   
jumped out, ignoring Duncan's call to wait. Storming to the barge,   
Duncan and Joe traded concerned looks, but parked the car before   
following. Noting the way Methos and Connor appeared at the door   
moments before Amber entered, he and Duncan headed their way.   
Neither of the older immortals went inside, waiting for him and   
Duncan, perhaps. Sending his strength to Amber, Joe hoped it wasn't   
quite as bad as the scene that still haunted Duncan's eyes.  
  
~  
  
Amber had brushed past them without a word, acknowledging her   
teacher with only a nod of her head. She had a feeling that the two   
older immortals had patched Richie up to the best of their abilities, but   
braced herself for the worst nonetheless.  
  
He was sprawled on the bed, covered only partially by the bed sheet, his   
back exposed to the air. Quietly, she headed for the bed, looking over   
his naked back. She could tell that the immortal healing was at work,   
because she could see parts of his skin regrowing over his shoulders.   
Wincing for her friend in his pain, she carefully knelt next to the bed,   
looking at where Rich's face was turned towards her own.  
  
Even the immortal healing couldn't fix the slits in his cheeks, the gashes   
on his forehead, fast enough for her pleasure. Reaching out a tentative   
hand, she ran her fingers across some of the newly repaired skin,   
frowning at the feel of the scar tissue, newly repaired and still healing.  
  
"Oh, Rich," she whispered. Somehow, she sensed that this wasn't the   
worst of it. Whatever her teacher had done to make repairs to her   
friend, it had taken care of only the worst of the wounds. At least, that   
was her guess. She continued running her fingers along his cheekbone,   
suddenly glad that he was asleep. She could comfort his nightmares for   
once.  
  
After all, she owed him.  
  
~  
  
He couldn't be around them, not at all.  
  
Every time they looked his way, he felt Steele, and it made him want to   
cry, to run. His legs were hardly repaired yet, most of the skin not   
having grown back, so running was out. But damn, he just couldn't be   
near Connor, Adam, Mac or even Joe. He felt vulnerable, exposed.   
Incredibly so. The only one who seemed to realize this was Amber.   
She had not left his side since he'd awaken.  
  
There was a strange comfort in that.  
  
The healing was near completion, or so Methos told him when he'd first   
awaken. He was vaguely aware that the old man had pumped him full   
of some kind of painkillers, probably sedatives too. Whatever they   
were, they had begun to wear off. The feel of his skin being regrown   
over his flayed back was a painful - if interesting - sensation.   
Throughout the whole thing, he could sense Amber nearby, and knew it   
was her running a cool cloth over his forehead, trying to distract him   
from the pain. He knew that the others were there too, somewhere, but   
the whole of his attention was focused on the pain.  
  
There was a lot to focus on.  
  
Raising his head, he looked at Amber. Her face was drawn in worry as   
she ran the cloth over his head. He mumbled something and she   
lowered her face closer to his own.  
  
"What?" she whispered.  
  
~  
  
"Still no clue as to where they could be?" Mac asked Joe. The mortal   
shook his head.  
  
"I've got people looking for Steele all over town, but we're getting   
nothing. No one has reported any strange immortal activity at all in the   
area," Joe shrugged helplessly. "We're doing the best that we can."  
  
"What good is a league of spies if they can't find one person?" Connor   
frowned. Duncan pinned his kinsman with an understanding look.   
Somehow, it hadn't surprised him to learn that the older Scotsman had   
already found out about the Watchers, he was a clever man. It had   
surprised him to find out how unhappy Connor was with then fact.   
MacLeod had not taken it very well, but his cousin was still angry with   
the Watchers for what he called 'dishonest conduct.' However, Connor   
and Joe had seemed to get along fairly well, despite the differences.  
  
"Look, we're doing the best we can. This is one of the Kurgan's   
students. The last person to watch him went psycho on the whole lot of   
us, convinced that immortals were abominations. Think we want that to   
happen again?" Duncan winced at the mention of Horton. It was still a   
raw subject with Joe.  
  
"No," Connor said. He glanced at Richie and Amber. "But I just wish   
that your people could work faster."  
  
"How about the other Immortals in the area? Have you tried any of   
them?" Joe asked. Duncan shook his head.  
  
"Most of us abandon Paris in the winter. It gets too cold for the tastes   
of others," Methos told him. "I can't think of anyone who would have   
stayed." There was a moment's uncomfortable silence.  
  
"What about Richie?" Connor suggested. Duncan shook his head.  
  
"Asking him might just drag him through what he had to go through. I   
don't want to put that kind of strain on him," he said truthfully. Methos   
began to speak when a short cough interrupted him. The men turned   
around to see Amber standing silently behind them.  
  
"You don't have to ask. He's already volunteered some of the   
information," she said. "There's a townhouse in the uptown district   
with a unique knocker on the door - the head of a unicorn. Richie said   
that a woman named Alyna took him in there."  
  
"Did he get the address?" Connor asked. Amber shook her head.  
  
"No. Only the street name." She recited it as Richie had told her.   
Duncan, Connor and Methos all looked at each other, nodding, and   
headed for the stairs.  
  
"Amber, Joe, stay here and take care of Richie," Duncan ordered.  
  
"That's a pretty cheap way of getting me out of danger," Amber   
growled. The door closed behind them before they bothered to   
respond.  
  
~  
  
Alyna looked up as the buzz washed over her. It seemed too vibrant to   
be Steele, his presence was notoriously flat, but she brushed the thought   
from her mind as the door behind her opened. Perhaps he had already   
taken the Quickenings of the other Immortals. It would explain the   
animation of the buzz.  
  
"Back so soon?" she asked. "How did it go?"  
  
"Just fine." Her eyes widened at the unfamiliar voice. Jumping to her   
feet, her rapier in hand, she stared at the three Immortals who had just   
come through the front door.  
  
"How did you find me?" she demanded, staring at Connor MacLeod.  
  
"A little red-haired bird told us," he sniped. Raising his katana, he   
scowled at her. "You and I, Alyna. And I will be the one to walk   
away."   
  
"Don't be too sure," she growled. "After all, my teacher beat yours."  
  
"Yes, and I beat him." Scowling, Alyna moved out from behind her   
couch and attempted to parry the blow that Connor swung at her.  
  
~  
  
Joe looked at Amber as she suddenly froze mid-sentence. Both she and   
Richie tensed as the buzz clouded their thoughts and Amber turned her   
attention to Joe.  
  
"Take care of him, Mon Amie," she said. Picking up her sword, she   
headed for the door of the barge. Joe stood, wanting to stop her, but   
she shook her head. "Please, Joe." He watched - a frown marring his   
handsome features - as she disappeared out the door.  
  
~  
  
Steele looked up as the door of the barge opened and the young girl   
stepped out. He had seated himself on the edge of the barge, waiting.   
The cool night air didn't seem to have any effect on him, and his hand   
itched for the hilt of his sword. Grinning as feral as any wildcat, he   
looked her over.  
  
"Yes, I remember you, the one I shot," he noted that she shifted   
uncomfortably at the reminder. "But where are your friends?"  
  
"Why, planning to take all three of them on at once?" Seeing his grin,   
she scowled. "You suicidal?" she snapped.  
  
"No. Of course not. Let's just say that I have experience with   
successive challenges," he told her. "And I know that I could have   
taken all three."  
  
"Then you're even more of an idiot than I thought," Amber told him.   
Steele shook his head.  
  
"Think so? A pity." He drew the most-coveted Queens sword from   
inside of his trenchcoat and held it up in the air. His blade was the   
same length as hers, but the enlarged handle gave it the appearance of   
being huge in comparison. Amber swallowed the sudden lump in her   
throat and felt her arm muscles tense in anticipation.  
  
"Ready to die, young one?"  
  
"No." Her attacked followed her words, faster than Steele would have   
suspected of one so young. Growling at this sudden surprise, he   
pressed forwards, giving himself the offensive.  
  
~  
  
Methos and Duncan watched, hand-in-hand, as the fight waged on. In   
the end, Duncan knew that there was no way Alyna could beat Connor,   
she just wasn't good enough. A few times, though, when her sword   
connected with his flesh, Duncan could almost taste his own tension.   
Methos squeezed his hand in comfort whenever Connor seemed to be   
losing the advantage. It served as a reminder to MacLeod of the many   
years that Connor had fought opponents harder than himself.  
  
And won.  
  
Suddenly, the lighter rapier was swept out of Alyna's hand as Connor's   
katana bashed it away. There was hardly a moment's pause as his blade   
cut down, slicing through her neck. Connor stood back, looking at   
Duncan and Methos as the white energy began to pool around Alyna's   
headless body.  
  
"It is done," he muttered. The lightning suddenly crackled in the room,   
the lightbulbs exploding with the excess energy. As that same energy   
flowed into and out of Connor, Duncan and Methos exchanged looks.   
Throughout the entire battle, something had drifted at the back of their   
minds, sent away as Connor battled.  
  
Where was Steele?  
  
~  
  
As his sword sliced through her arm, Amber gritted her teeth and held   
back the curse. Unless she was very careful now, the blood would run   
down to her hand, making it slippery and harder to use her sword.   
Breathing to retain some small amount of control as she narrowly   
avoided another stunning blow, she mentally registered the feeling of   
the buzz once more. Steele hardly blinked, using her momentary   
hesitation for the advantage it was. Slicing forwards, he caught the area   
just below her sternum. Gasping in pain, Amber recoiled, nearly   
dropping her sword. It was hung limply from her hand. Smiling, Steele   
raised his own, preparing the deathblow. He could hear the shout of   
denial from behind him - probably her friends returning to the barge -   
but they were too far away. Preparing to take her head, he lunged   
forwards.  
  
Everything seemed to move in slow motion for Amber. Steele's   
incoming figure. The way his foot suddenly shot forwards, finding an   
icy patch on the barge. His sword still aimed at her head as he fell. Her   
automatic reaction with a parry, then cutting down - trying to stop him.   
She felt her blade connect with something, though she wasn't sure what.   
Then, as his deflected blade caught the broadside of her newly repaired   
back, and lightning began to flash in the air, she had an idea of what   
her sword had just connected with.  
  
His was a powerful Quickening. She wasn't sure how she knew this,   
but as the souls of a hundred Immortals flooded into her, she just knew.   
Innate knowledge flooded her mind. He had been a headhunter, he had   
killed mortals and immortals, men and women, adults and children   
without qualm. He liked chamomile tea.  
  
Screaming with the overload in her mind, Amber was nearly lifted into   
the air with the force of the power. The lightning forced her back a   
step. Two. And then over the edge of the barge and into the dark,   
frigid waters below.  
  
~  
  
Amber sat pensively on the edge of the barge, alone. Her first   
Quickening had killed her - she'd drowned when the force of it had   
flung her overboard - and it had changed her at the same time. She had   
someone lurking inside her head, someone who she wouldn't have   
given the time of day to if she'd met him on the street. A man who was   
so inherently. . . evil that the mere though of some of the acts he'd   
committed made her shudder. In his Quickening she saw what had   
happened to Richie in detail. The way that the bitch Alyna and Steele   
would take turns bringing Richie to the point of death and then pushing   
him way over the edge all at once. Every moment of every second she   
wanted to jump into a shower and turn the hot on full blast, wishing to   
rub the feeling away with the boiling heat. When she had first tried,   
Methos had turned off the hot water heater rather than barge in on her,   
but it had stopped her from making her skin blister under the heat. So   
instead of rubbing her skin raw, she disappeared outside into the cold   
air for hours at a time, trying to regain control of herself.  
  
It was hard. The man had been a headhunter for almost two centuries.   
He had taken more heads than she could count, and it felt like all of   
them were pent up inside her as well. In a way, it felt like a mental   
battle, one that she needed to win if she wanted to retain control of   
herself.  
  
And the memories. She suddenly saw the Kurgan in her head, knew   
everything about him - things that Connor had not even found out. She   
sensed Steele's exaltation when he had found out about Heather's rape   
and how word of the Kurgan's death incited a bloodlust within him.   
She could remember learning fighting techniques that Methos had yet to   
show her and feeling a need for domination. What could she do to   
defeat that sort of lust?  
  
The conclusion had come to her after a day of Steele's death - when he   
was being particularly pushy when she had tried to order the others out   
of the room so Richie could feel more comfortable. The sense of power   
- any power - brought him closer to the surface, and until she could find   
a way to beat him down, there was only one way to keep him out of her   
mind.  
  
Complete and utter submission.  
  
It had worked insofar, but god she hated it. She needed another way to   
conquer this before Steele destroyed her.  
  
Sensing another approach behind her, she turned to see Richie. He had   
only been on his feet for a day, but he spent every other moment with   
her. Because even as she needed to act out the submissive role, his   
mindset ordered him to be in control, so he could feel like less of a   
victim. They had made the perfect pair – more so than before.   
Whether or not the others would be able to cope with the changes in   
their personalities was still to be decided. Neither of them were   
comfortable around the other Immortals.  
  
"Hey," Richie greeted, sitting down beside her on the small landing that   
looked out to the river.  
  
"Hi," Amber whispered in response. Steele's temper flared at the   
thought that this would turn into another submission-domination game   
with Amber and Richie. He hated it when she did this; especially with   
Richie. It made him feel inadequate when his former victim got to be   
so controlling of his new one.  
  
"So, Connor's leaving the day after tomorrow," Richie told her. Amber   
nodded, she had heard that. "And I was just kinda wondering what you   
were planning to do."  
  
"I don't know yet," she answered truthfully. "They're just, I don't   
know, *smothering* me." Richie nodded in understanding.  
  
"Maybe the two of us should get away too," he muttered off-handedly.   
Amber looked up, intrigued by the idea. Seeing her look of intense   
interest, Richie shook his head. "Am, I didn't-"  
  
"No, Richie, it's a great idea," she assured him. Seeing how serious she   
suddenly was, Richie managed a small smile.  
  
"Think we should?" he asked.  
  
"We both have issues to hammer out, so why not?" she asked. Her   
voice was lined with a pleading tone. Richie considered the idea a   
minute.  
  
"You still have training," he pointed out.  
  
"If this is what I have to look forward to, I'd rather someone just take   
my head," she told him, referring to the Quickening. Richie considered   
that a moment and nodded.  
  
"I'll go talk to Mac about it," he finally said. Amber smiled quietly and   
looked out onto the river. So cold, so black; it was calming in a strange   
way. Although her pressing the idea of the escape gave Steele a   
satisfying feeling of power, she managed to press it down, hypnotized   
by the dark waters.  
  
*God, I'd better find another way soon.*  
  
~  
  
Methos backed down the steps as Richie moved towards him. An   
unreadable look on his face, he went to collect his ledgers. If Richie   
and Amber were hellbound to see this through, then he had the perfect   
itinerary for them.  
  
It might serve to heal both, in time.  
  
~  
  
"Are you sure you need to leave so soon, cousin?" Duncan asked   
Connor as his kinsman headed for the door.  
  
"I didn't pack enough clothes to stay very long, brother, but I promise   
that I will return. Obviously you need more of a positive influence on   
your life." Connor eyed Methos and the way he was sprawled lazily   
across the nearby couch.  
  
"I thought you were all right with our relationship," Duncan said, half-  
joking. Connor had taken it better than Duncan had though. Even   
going as far to assure him that Connor himself had bedded more than   
one man. And been bedded by, in more than one case.  
  
"I am. But this self-serving reprobate is corrupting you," Connor told   
him.  
  
"Like you could do any better," Methos muttered. Smiling, Connor   
waved a hand at him and headed outside, where the taxi waited.  
  
"I'll see you at Christmas, cousin," Duncan called after him. Smiling,   
he shut the door as the taxi roared away. Turning he looked at Methos.   
"Amber and Richie are all packed. Have you decided what to do about   
her leaving like this."  
  
"Yes," Methos told him. "I've decided to allow it." Seeing Duncan   
begin to protest, Methos raised a hand. "Don't you start with me,   
MacLeod, you'd have done the same thing. Need I mention that   
incident with Claudia?" Before Mac could reply, he continued. "The   
Quickening that Amber took had a strange effect on her. If Steele had   
taken another head or two before facing her, I'd have called it a Dark   
Quickening. But as is, she needs the time away from us. And Richie   
needs space to properly heal as well." Duncan frowned.  
  
"Her training's noh yet complete," Duncan pointed out, half-dropping   
into his slight Scottish overtures. "One Quickening is noh going to   
teach her wha' she needs teh know."  
  
"Gods save me from that accent," Methos muttered. "Between her and   
Richie, they'll be fine for a month or two, and I think that it will be   
good for them to get out on their own. The youth need space to   
discover new alternatives and lifestyles." Methos paused. "Look at   
yourself for example." Growling, Duncan narrowed his eyes. "What?   
A few years out of Connor's sphere of influence and you start groping   
the opposite sex. How does that add up?"  
  
"As I remember, you're the one that like teh grope," Duncan muttered.   
He took a few lurching steps towards Methos.  
  
"Not yet, Highlander, we still need to say goodbye to Richie and   
Amber. They should be here fairly soon." As if on cue, the buzz   
washed over them. "See?" A few moments later, there was a tentative   
knock on the door. Duncan opened it, smiling at Amber and Richie.  
  
"Hey," Amber said softly. Duncan softened his grin at the quieted tone.   
The Quickening had shown her power, but humbled her as well - that   
was how the Scot perceived it anyway. It had toned down the nature   
that had once been so flamboyant. He was unsure as to whether or not   
he liked the change.  
  
"I see you two are all ready," he said, noting the cabby outside and how   
impatient he seemed to be getting.  
  
"Yeah, well, this is supposed to be a brief goodbye, Mac," Richie   
muttered. "Neither of us are any good at them." Duncan smiled.  
  
"Well, you two make sure that you stay out of trouble," he said mocking   
his usual stern nature.  
  
"Always," Amber said, though a twinkle in her eye managed to remind   
Mac of the carefree woman she had been. He felt Methos approach   
behind him and moved over to allow the older Immortal room to see his   
student.  
  
"Pleasure-bent again?" Methos asked. Amber nodded.  
  
"You're the one who detailed the route to travel," she pointed out.   
Methos smiled.  
  
"Well, if you were going away, I was damn well going to make sure that   
I could customarily check on you, and since I know the staff at half the   
places you'll be staying. . ." he trailed off.  
  
"Great, paranoia raises its ugly head," Richie muttered. Amber leaned   
against him, pushing him over a bit. The four Immortals waited a   
moment in silence.  
  
"So, be back here for Christmas," Duncan ordered. Amber and Richie   
nodded.  
  
"We will. Even bring you some foreign wine," Amber promised.  
  
"Just make sure it's not the cheap stuff that Duncan picked up last time   
he was overseas," Methos ordered. Duncan hit his lover's shoulder   
affectionately. Amber nodded her promise.  
  
"Come on, Rich, I'll walk you to the car," Duncan said a moment later,   
recognizing that the teachers and students all needed a moment's   
privacy. He and Richie headed for the cab, leaving Amber and Methos   
standing at the door to the barge.  
  
"Well, I guess this is goodbye then, maighstir," she said. Methos   
nodded.  
  
"Do me a favour and don't get yourself killed, all right?" he said.  
  
"Well I can't. If I did that, then who would save Joe from your wrath   
when he drinks all the beer." Both of them allowed for an unsure laugh.   
After another moment, Amber reached out and Methos took her in his   
arms. Muttering assurances that she and Richie would be back on   
December twentieth, Amber kissed his cheek and started for the car.  
  
"Oh, and Amber," Methos called after her. She looked up. "You're   
accenting the 'gh' too much. Improve on that will you?" Amber   
smiled.  
  
"Yes, sir." When she met Duncan and Richie, she gave the Scotsman a   
tight hug and she and Rich disappeared into the cab. Duncan waited a   
moment, watching the car disappear into the distance before heading   
back to the barge's doorway.  
  
"You outlined the trip for them?" he asked his lover. Methos nodded.  
  
"Yes. It's the same one that Alexa and I took before. . ." Methos   
stopped, a frown marring his features. Duncan reached out and   
wrapped an arm around Methos' shoulders.  
  
"Come to bed, old man." Methos looked at Duncan.  
  
"How many times do I have to tell you, don't call me old man." The   
two Immortals disappeared into the barge.  
  
~  
  
Connor looked out the window of the jet. It had been a lot to adsorb in   
the last few days. Duncan's relationship with one Adam Pierson; the   
destruction of the Kurgan's line; the upcoming Christmas event that   
Duncan seemed to be planning. . .  
  
That he gave special attention to. From what he had understood,   
Amber had wanted it very badly before the Quickening, wanting to   
meet everyone whom she'd heard Duncan, Richie and Adam speak of in   
the past. Since she had taken Steele's head and undergone the   
personality change, Duncan and Adam had tried their hardest to do   
something about it. Finally they decided that the party might be a good   
idea. Get her around others of her kind, get to her be her open self   
again. Whether it would work or not was the question.  
  
Connor smiled at the notion of the party. Perhaps he should brew a   
little 'boom-boom.'  
  
~Finis  



End file.
